


you kiss me like your boyfriend

by veterization



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake says he'd do anything to win over a contestant. Even kiss Adam. Adam, while tailspinning, proceeds to realize a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you kiss me like your boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been watching The Voice pretty lackadaisically here and there for the past few years, and then recently, I started watching a little less lackadaisically, and out of nowhere, something just clicked for me watching Adam and Blake together and I threw myself into Shevine hell (read: I spent a solid few days schooling myself on their relationship via masterposts, YouTube videos, gif analyses, interviews, etc). And now here we are.
> 
> This story was very clearly inspired by all those moments on the show when somebody will say "I'll do anything to get you on my team!" and I'm sitting there steepling my hands together thinking "really? _Really_ , though?"
> 
> Title is from Tegan and Sara's song Boyfriend.

It happens during the Blind Auditions.

It starts out innocently enough, with them all trying to get a singer they all pressed their buttons for to choose them. Adam loves the chase, loves the push and pull of persuading a talented artist to join his team, and as much as he gripes about losing to his teammates, he likes when they all turn their chairs and they get to battle it out and he can just _see_ in the contestant's eyes how awed they are that they have this many people pulling for them, supporting them. That's how it goes today.

After a few rejections, a few failed attempts at snagging singers, and a couple incredible auditions Adam somehow ended up claiming all for his own, someone comes out with an angelic little voice that just seems to simultaneously float in the air and shake the whole room, and within seconds, he and everybody else is pushing their buttons and watching this gorgeous young girl give it her all on the stage. She's right in between being green and having an enormous amount of self-instructed skill, which is always the ripest time to teach an artist who they can be and what potential they have, and Adam bends over backwards trying to get her on his team. Unfortunately, so does everybody else.

Alicia talks about how much she'd love to work with her, how much of herself she sees in her. Miley says she adores the realness of her voice, and that she's sure they could win this whole thing. Adam begs for her to be on his team, kneeling in his chair, and says he sees a once in a million type of spark in her. 

And then Blake says, "I'd do anything to get you on my team. Hell, I'd even kiss Adam. On the mouth."

Everybody laughs, the sound vibrating through the seats, and Alicia says, "Oh, come on," which is definitely not the right thing to say, because Blake sits up in his chair, more determined than before.

"I'm serious. I would."

"You wouldn't," Miley says.

"Oh yeah? I'll show you."

Suddenly nobody's laughing anymore; instead they're all cheering, the sound so loud it's almost as ominous as what the jeers in the colosseum must've sounded like, and Adam is so sure, _so sure_ that Blake is bluffing, of course he fucking is, that he doesn't let himself do anything but chuckle at Blake's empty promises and ridiculous tactics.

His chuckling tapers off when he sees Blake get out of his chair and walk over to his own, the crowd getting significantly louder with every step he takes. Blake's wearing a shit-eating grin like this is all fun and games as he comes to a stop in front of Adam's chair, and Adam is still, stupidly so, certain that this isn't happening. Blake is a touchy guy, the kind who doesn't mind Adam sitting on his lap or kissing Adam's neck when they hug or leaving big grandma-esque smooches on his cheek, and Adam doesn't mind playing along with that, always cringing and pushing and groaning whenever Blake comes near him, but they've never kissed on the mouth, not even jokingly, not even drunkenly, not even for a nanosecond. They've never explicitly talked about it, but there are limits to these sorts of things, fine lines between "playful bromance" and "genuinely flirtatious," and Adam's always been very careful to not toe the separation between the two. 

Blake, however, never seems to have gotten the memo about this unspoken agreement not to let things go too far, because a second later he's cupping Adam's face in his hands—gently, even—and leaning in over the barrier of the chair's button, and all Adam gets as warning before his heartbeat starts jackhammering away at the realization that this is actually happening is the warmth of Blake's breath on his chin. The last thing he thinks is still _no, he wouldn't, there's no way,_ but—

Blake kisses him then, directly on the lips as promised, and the crowd's noise-making swells—at least Adam thinks it does, it feels like the universe's sound has been turned off in his ears the moment his and Blake's mouths meet—and all Adam can think is holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit.

Blake is kissing him. _Blake is kissing him_. Blake has those big, warm hands on his cheeks and that short, scratchy stubble rubbing against his face and they are actually kissing. It isn't even a chaste kiss, the kind Adam would've preferred, all closed-mouths and stiff lips and no real emotion, like the kind of rigid kiss you'd give that annoying, always drunk, twice-removed aunt everybody has, but a wetter one, a realer one. Blake's lips are parted against Adam's and his face is tilted to avoid nose-bending and he swears there's even a flicker of tongue for a second, and it's all Adam can do not to firework out of his seat while an ugly blend of shock, confusion, and a complete loss of a grasp of the reality of the situation hits him straight in the solar plexus. Blake's mouth is on his, his teeth are grazing Adam's lower lip, and he's so close that he's gone fuzzy, just skin-colored blurs, and without intending to, Adam acts on a reflex and closes his eyes, suddenly able to focus on every detail of Blake's mouth, the same mouth that curves when he mocks him, that breaks into a grin when he laughs with him, that is _kissing him_.

It feels like the longest kiss in the world, but there's a chance that it only lasts about ten seconds. Blake pulls away after eons, his thumbs daring to brush Adam's cheekbones, and then he's turning to face the contestant on stage, shrugging and chortling like all of this is just hilarious old hat at the Voice set, and he heads back to his seat. Miley's laughing and Alicia's eyebrows are in her hairline and the stadium sounds like a magnified beehive behind his chair, and it's all Adam can do to hope that every camera in the room isn't zoomed in on him and his face and his reaction to that completely unscripted moment.

What the fuck just happened?

\--

Afterwards, things get weird.

At least, they get weird for Adam. Everybody else seems _fine_. Nobody thinks twice about that kiss, except for perhaps the press and the Internet, which Adam is firmly distancing himself from to avoid seeing articles like "You'll Never Guess What Country Star Blake Shelton Did To A Voice Co-Star!", but everybody else is oblivious to Adam's overthinking. Nobody even seems shocked that it happened. And to add insult to injury, Blake's little stunt got him that contestant on his team.

And everybody else might've moved right on, but Adam can't stop thinking about that kiss. About how it felt, about how Blake's lips were burning on his for eternities, about how many people saw him react without cringing or shoving or complaining like he usually does without fail whenever Blake comes too close and there's a camera nearby.

For so many years, he's been adamant that there's been nothing between them whenever playful reporters and sometimes not-so-playful reporters asked. Hell, he'd be happy never hearing the word _bromance_ again in his life, because honestly, is it so weird to believe that they're just friends? He always used to be able to pull out the line that _come on, Blake's married_ whenever anybody pestered him too much in an interview, but now Blake isn't married anymore, and now they've kissed, and now Adam can't stop thinking about the kiss, and what the fuck does that mean? It's making him reevaluate everything, even if maybe he always bristles so much when people press the bromance angle because they saw something he didn't, because he felt some pit of unease in his stomach at the glacial realization that he's a little attracted to his friend and everybody was slowly picking up on it.

And the crazy thing is that he's never even really thought about it, even with all of Blake's ridiculous reach-around jokes and the way they play it up for the camera, _until now_. Now Adam's thinking about it. Whenever his mind drifts, it swims into dangerous territory, like thoughts of kissing Blake with tongue, of the noises Blake would make if he ground down onto his lap, of the way Blake would feel looming over him, naked and panting and whispering reverent praise in Adam's ear.

The worst part is that Blake is clearly not undergoing the same mental panic as him. Blake is still Blake. Blake isn't overthinking anything. Blake apparently thinks there's nothing wrong with putting his mouth on his platonic friend's mouth and sucking face on TV. All right.

Maybe he really just thinks all this is normal and that that kiss was the kind of friendly, brotherly peck you can casually give a friend, or maybe he just had no reaction to it anywhere beyond surface level—not emotionally, not physically, not sexually, not like Adam has. 

And the thing is, Adam's kissed a guy before, and it's never been anything head-turning or earth-shattering for him before. He kissed James once right after high school, high in the darkness under the patio in James' backyard, and that was nothing to write home about, more like something to laugh about. Adam is starting to think that's probably exactly how Blake sees their kiss, like just two bros having fun, check it off the bucket-list and never do it again, which would be all fine and dandy if Adam wasn’t on the complete opposite of the spectrum.

Adam liked it. He can’t deny it anymore, not when he keeps thinking about it, keeps imagining it happening again, and that pops up a whole new slew of questions, like: does he want to do it again? Is he bisexual? Does he have feelings for Blake? Seriously, _Blake_ of all people? Blake, the country hillbilly he teases the shit out of on a regular basis? The guy who slept on his couch for months after his divorce because that’s where he felt the most comfortable? The guy who he flies to Oklahoma with during hiatus because he prefers spending time with him on his ranch to dicking around at pompous LA parties?

Fuck, this is bad.

Feelings might not even be as bad as being sexually attracted to Blake, because that’s what now keeps messing with him every time he looks at Blake and listens to him talk and watches his lips move and remembers what it felt like to have them on his own. Feelings are one pot of trouble, but wanting to wrap his legs around Blake's waist and feel the sting of his stubble on his skin for days, that’s another catastrophe entirely. What’s going to happen when they hang out again and Adam’s mind drifts over to what it might feel like to have Blake’s fingers slipping into him, stretching him open, prepping him for his cock, and then next thing he knows, he has a boner that he can’t hide in his skinny jeans and absolutely no explanation for.

And holy shit, he's amazed at how badly he wants that to happen, how _empty_ he feels because he's wishing that Blake was inside him right fucking now, how much he wants that hot, sweaty, breathless, writhing image in his head to be real.

"Whatcha up to?"

Adam jumps up at the sound of Blake's voice, who just so happens to be right behind him like he heard the fucking siren song of Adam's erection just now and found it necessary to show up and make it that much harder for Adam to hide the tightness of his pants. Blake's in a flannel and well-worn jeans and is eating an overstuffed sandwich, and none of it should be sexy, but it somehow is, and Adam's situation goes from bad to worse.

"Nothing," he says. "I mean—yeah." He has to go. "I have to go."

Adam catches a moment's worth of Blake's confused frown before he turns around and hustles over to his trailer, every bone in his body feeling too hot for his skin, his head fogging over with just how hard he is because of Blake, because he apparently has the self-control of a fourteen-year-old boy. 

He locks his trailer door and absolutely does not jerk off.

\--

It doesn’t get better as interviewers start getting involved. He and Blake sit down with Access Hollywood, with Extra, with Entertainment, and even though they're there to talk about the show, the crux of the interview clearly isn't about that. All of them know about the kiss, want to know more, and won’t hesitate to ask. Adam expects nothing less considering the thousands of clickbait articles, Internet conspiracies, and speculation Blake kissing him must’ve prompted, but he still had a super small sliver of delusional hope that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t come up.

Naturally, it does.

"So Blake, that was definitely some kiss."

Blake guffaws, perfectly proud where he’s sitting next to Adam on a couch that’s too damn small across from a perky interviewer with gossipmonger eyes Adam knows all too well. There are a million cameras in this room and Adam can’t stop thinking about just how many angles they’re recording, how they’re all just waiting with baited breath for a sequel make out they can get on tape with sharper lenses. "I just couldn't help myself, you know. Sitting next to this eye candy all day."

Blake's hand comes down on Adam's thigh, squeezing, and Adam is so focused on how the touch seems to burn that he forgets he should probably be shrugging off his touches like he always does. How the fuck is Blake doing this? How is he acting like all of this is just another great facet of their bromance, just another joke, another laugh on set?

“And Adam,” the interviewer says, turning to him. “How was it?”

“Uh,” Adam says, because for the life of him, he can’t think of what to say. Weeks ago, this would’ve been easy. He would’ve rolled his eyes and cracked a joke about Blake needing definite help in that area, and that this is what happens when you spend your life being too hideous to ever get anyone to kiss you, and he really needs to practice, two out of ten, etc, etc, but it’s like his mouth can’t form the words, can’t remember how to properly act around Blake.

“I’ve made him speechless,” Blake cuts in, squeezing his leg again. “See? That’s how good I was.”

“Horrible,” Adam manages to say. “He was horrible. Terrible. Worst kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” the interviewer says, pointing at Blake. “Don’t hurt his feelings!”

“It’s okay,” Blake says, and that’s when his arms comes down around Adam’s shoulders, pulling him to his side. “He’s just overwhelmed with his feelings for me, that’s all.”

Adam tries prying Blake’s fingers off of his shoulder. “Dude.”

“He feels what I’m feelin’ too, he’s just shy.”

The room laughs and Adam swears that this is a stone’s throw away from becoming trouble, like any second now the interviewer is going to call for an encore performance and everybody from the cameramen to the sound guy will start chanting for them to kiss. It sounds unlikely, but what the hell does he know anymore? Nothing makes sense and this universe is rigged.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, searingly aware of how Blake’s side is pressed firmly against his. “Can we talk about something else, please?” he asks, knowing all the while that he sounds like a douchebag who can’t take a joke, but fuck this, he’s not doing this. “Like the show, maybe, the new season.”

The laughter dies down and yeah, everybody thinks he’s a massive jerk now who woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Blake jumps in again, jostling Adam by the shoulder.

“He just gets cranky when I talk about what we have ‘cause, you know, it’s private,” he says, so dead serious that Adam could honestly just _smack him in the balls_ , but then he segues cleanly into, “anyway, so we’re all real excited about season eleven.”

The interview moves on. The kiss doesn’t get mentioned again, but Blake’s arm around his shoulders seems to scorch a hole through his shirt.

\--

After the interviews, Adam gives in and watches the video of them kissing on YouTube. It has a crazy amount of views already, and Adam can only imagine what everybody thought when they saw it. He's never been one to fall prey much to the opinions of the media and the public, not when they're nasty half the time and wrong the other half, but suddenly he finds himself burning to know what everybody's thinking, what they all believe now. Against his better judgment, he scrolls down to the comment section before he lets himself watch it.

_omg. that definitely looked that they've done that before!_

_FINALLY something that wasn't on the cheek. Bless Blake Shelton._

_Honestly guys it's obvious he isn't really kissing him. I'm pretty sure he has his palm in the way and they're just staging it. Be logical._

_LOL never knew Adam was gay. But he looked waaaay too comfortable there._

_Wtf? Never saw a cowboy fag before......_

_Sad what they're doing to get more views for the show. Smh_

Adam scrolls back up before he digs himself too deep in this hell on earth, the knot in his chest much tighter than it was before and morphing into something that feels uncomfortably like nausea. He really shouldn't watch this. He's not going to get anything from watching this video except for more discomfort from an already amazingly uncomfortable situation, and those comments really should be enough to sate his curiosity.

He clicks the fucking video anyway.

It starts right when Blake starts promising to do anything, big smile on his face, and the audience cheers. It almost feels like Adam's watching somebody else entirely rather than himself, like a strange, out of body experience. He watches as Blake saunters out of his chair, huge grin split from ear to ear, and the crowd goes wild. He watches as Blake approaches him and cups his face, and the version of himself in the video—he can't be real, he just can't be—doesn't even bend away, doesn't even squeeze his eyes shut or pull faces. It's like he's not even expecting it, like he doesn't quite believe that Blake isn't bluffing, and then he watches as Blake leans in and kisses him right on the mouth.

He hears Miley laughing and the crowd roaring, all sounds he wasn't registering at this point back when it happened, and he sees his hands furl around Blake's elbows, something he doesn't even remember doing. Their faces are tilted together and from what the camera angle allows, it looks real and easy and not at all bumpy and brotherly like Adam suspected it would be like if he and Blake ever kissed, even on accident. He doesn't know how there are people out there who've seen this same video and think this was all a stage kiss, not when it's clear in all the little nuances that it isn't. Adam can see the way his fingers are white on Blake's arm, how their usual playfulness is completely absent here, and if he squints, he swears he can even see his arms shaking through the screen.

The kiss isn't all that long, but reliving it makes it feel like the video goes on for hours. By the time it's over and the clip ends right as Blake slides away and grins at the crowd, Adam's skin is prickling and his face is on fire. He slams his laptop shut, feeling inexplicably like a teenager who was just watching filthy porn on a family computer, and tries to regulate his breathing, tries to rationalize the tornado of emotions he's feeling, if not at least prioritize them.

There is one part of himself in particular that seems to want to have priority.

Fuck, is he hard. Adam groans when he presses the heel of his hand to the bulge in his pants, caught between extreme shame and confusion and arousal, a blend that ultimately shouldn't make him greedy to come but _does_. He keeps feeling Blake's lips on his, tasting his mouth, remembering his stubble against his cheek, the video making it all the realer and bringing back every little detail, and it's all just too much, especially when his imagination is fucking running with this and is making Adam wonder what it would feel like to kiss Blake again, this time without cameras and with fierce purpose, if he'd scoop Adam up and bite a hot line down his neck and touch his stomach underneath his shirt and push their hips together until Adam would be moaning, writhing, impatient with the need to touch.

He can’t keep the thoughts at bay after that—his mind whirls with ideas of how Blake would touch him, if he’d be fast or gentle, rough or slow, if he’d make Adam beg for it. Before he knows it, he’s unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his hips, pulling his dick out of his underwear and smearing the precome with his thumb, thinking all the while that it’s not the right hand, that it should be bigger, broader, that someone should be murmuring accented nothings into his ear. He pants, stroking himself, drunk on the idea of Blake biting the tattoos on his chest, bending his legs up and nuzzling his thigh, his beard rough on his leg. Blake hard and sweat-slick, desperate to get inside Adam, to make him groan. Blake opening him up with his fingers, teeth grazing Adam’s thigh, mouth wrapped around his cock, and god, his mouth, his _fucking mouth_ , Adam wants to know what that mouth can do aside from throw wit around.

He doesn’t feel nearly as guilty as he thought he would as he pumps himself to the mental image of Blake doing it for him, too wrapped up in the heat, the pleasure, the fantasy floating under his eyelids. He slips two of his fingers from his free hand into his mouth and wets them, lungs tight as he lifts his hips and presses them against his hole, the need too insistent for him to ignore. He hasn't done this in a while and the resistance is strong, and it requires some resilience and slow rubbing before he can ease a fingertip inside, but he has Blake’s imaginary voice in his ear, whispering with that goddamn twang of an accent that he’s going to make it good for him, that he’s going to open him up, and it makes the slide that much easier.

He does this sometimes when the mood strikes, adds a few fingers into the mix when he’s jerking off, but admittedly never to the thought of broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair and stupidly loud laughter. He can’t push the thoughts aside even if he tries, even if he puts together beautiful girls in his mind’s eyes with long legs and round chests and soft stomachs, they just _don’t stick_ and his mind is back to plaid shirts and blue eyes. He pushes his finger inside past the knuckle to those very thoughts, hating the fact that he knows that Blake’s fingers would feel bigger, thicker, _better_.

He slides a second finger in when he can, saliva easing the push but not by much, leaving him burning and still somehow dangerously close, the hand around his cock stroking in time with the shallow thrusts his fingers are moving to. Blake’s name is right on the edge of his tongue, right there along with the version of him in Adam’s imagination that’s totally ruthless with him, holding him in place and fucking him senseless, filling him up and then lapping at his swollen hole—

He comes so hard he’s trembling through the aftershocks as he spills over his hand and clenches down on his fingers, images of Blake still rolling through his mind, and it takes a bit for the world to form around him again and his vision to focus. That was about ten times more intense than the last few orgasms he's had, his mastubatory aid of Blake stretched out over him working wonders for him here, which is not exactly a great thing.

He really needs to think ahead more often. How the hell is he going to face Blake again after just jacking off to the mental image of having sex with him? How is he going to look at him and be able to think about anything other Blake nudging his knees apart and sinking into him in one breath? How did he just _let this happen?_

Okay. So that might’ve just made all this much, much worse.

\--

“Got you some coffee.”

A paper cup wiggles in front of Adam’s nose, a waft of its freshness enticing him to take it from Blake’s outstretched hand. He takes a cautionary sip, realizing with a funny little jolt to his stomach that it’s sugared just right. “Decaf?”

“Yeah. Don’t want you bouncing all over the damn place,” Blake says. It sounds like _I know how you like your coffee_ , which really just sounds like _I know you like the back of my hand_. Blake doesn’t have a cup of his own, which means he went to get Adam coffee just because he thought of him. Just for the hell of it. God, everything would be infinitely easier if Blake was a terrible person and they weren't friends and they could just fuck and get it over with, but no, Blake is the kind of one-of-a-kind person who brings Adam beverages just to be nice. 

"Thanks, man."

"No problem," Blake says. “Wanna come over tonight or are you busy?”

“Uh.” Adam isn’t busy, not really, but there’s no way he’s coming over. It was literally just last night that he was coming all over himself to the idea of Blake naked in front of him, and it's a small miracle that he can even sanely have this conversation with him right now. "Yeah.”

He avoids explaining by taking another drag from his cigarette, doing his best to think up nonexistent excuses as to what he's oh-so occupied with. He hadn’t even noticed just how much he and Blake hang out until he actively tried to cut down to deal with—whatever the hell this is—and then realized that half of his evenings are spent just sitting in Blake’s house strumming a guitar with him, and that it’ll probably start sounding weird if he keeps up this evasiveness. Hell, the only reason he’s out here smoking right now is because he wanted to take a five-minute break away from set, away from Blake, and thought hiding out behind the trailers would give him a chance to relax.

“That’s fine,” Blake says. “Maybe the weekend, then.”

And then, like somebody pushes a button that just has Adam vomiting out words—

"Why'd you do it?" Adam asks.

"Do what?"

Adam rolls his lips into his mouth, wondering if this was a good idea. His cigarette is already down to the butt and he fiddles with it for one helpless moment before dropping it to the ground. "Kiss me." On stage. In front of thousands of people.

"Kiss you? Everybody loved it," Blake says, like that explains it. "We mess with each other like that all the time, you know that."

"Yeah, but, not like that." Not for _real_. 

A flicker of something passes over Blake's face, leaving Adam instantly thinking that maybe he shouldn't have said anything. He should've just gone with the flow, pretended to be just as hunky-dory as Blake is, acted like it didn't matter that they kissed and now thousands of people think they're in love and Adam's jerked off to the idea of Blake kissing him again. Now he's let on that he's not all right, that that kiss shook him, and that was an admission he never wanted to make.

"Is this why you've been acting so strange lately?" Blake asks, stepping an inch closer. "You're upset?"

"No. I'm just—" Confused, conflicted, turned on. "I just don't know why you did it. For real, at least."

“For real?”

“Yeah. You could’ve—could’ve just pretended.”

Blake's eyebrows are slanted together now, the concern clear on his face. "I didn't know you'd mind this much. You know, me and you, we're always—"

Messing around. Playing up the chemistry. Touching all the time anyway.

"No, yeah, I get it. And I don't mind." Adam rakes his hand through his hair, holding onto it for a second and briefly entertaining the idea of us making it out of his scalp just to distract from this conversation. "I don't." He just can't stop thinking about it. "Don't overthink it, cowboy."

He socks Blake in the shoulder, trying to lighten the mood away from the downward spiral that ends with Blake _knowing_ things that Adam is just starting to figure out himself, and it luckily works, because soon the seriousness melts away and Blake is smiling.

"Good," he says. "As long as my kissin' abilities aren't the problem."

Oh, they’re a fucking problem, all right.

\--

Adam dreads every day of taping like he never has before after that kiss. His brain keeps flooding him with possibilities of what might happen when he does, what _Blake_ might do all in the spirit of competitive fun. What if the floodgates are open now as to what's okay to do to sway a contestant, and before Adam knows what hit him, Blake will be saying "I'll do anything to get you on my team," and five seconds later, he'll he sucking Adam off. 

Which now that he thinks about it, is really not the sort of image that should be swirling around in his head right before heading for set. He's digging his own grave here.

By the end of the week, Adam has run off to masturbate too much to be a) healthy, b) discreet, or c) even just normal, and this is officially the worst thing to ever happen to him. It’s like someone’s taken the world he knows and shaken it upside down like a snowglobe and now everything is backwards, and Adam gets turned on listening to that slow drawl of Blake's voice telling contestants _I want you_ with that obnoxious country bumpkin accent that never used to do anything to Adam except make for A+ mockery fuel. His head hurts and his wrist hurts and he's pretty sure his hand is even chafing a bit.

This thing, it’s spiraled out of control. It started out so small, just a kiss, just a short kiss between friends that was all just for fun, and now Adam’s getting hard every time Blake kisses his cheek like a long-lost grandmother, which isn’t sexy, never was, but suddenly it is because _everything Blake does has become sexy_ and Adam is left to wonder who he has karmically pissed on so badly that this is happening to him.

Coming to the last day of auditions is unbelievably relieving. He won’t have a lot of time until he's back on set coaching his team, but he has some time after today is over, and he's fully prepared to spend it being productive and push past all these unnecessary feelings and not masturbate to Blake Shelton even once. This has to be cold turkey if he wants even the slightest chance of shoving this all aside until he can one day look back and find very dry, very uncomfortable humor in it, which is the brightest outlook he has on the situation right now.

That being said, the last day of auditions also feels like one of the longest day of Adam's life.

Which is probably because no matter how many times Adam looks at the clock, time isn't moving. It's _drooling_ by, and all this waiting is exacerbated by Blake sticking his own brand of hell into the mix by heading over to Adam’s chair whenever he fucking feels like it to ruffle Adam's hair or kiss his cheek or poke him in the stomach. Miley and Alicia seem oblivious to all this, almost like in this short time they've all been working together, they're already used to Blake and Adam hanging off of each other all the damn time, laughing, touching, teasing, fondling, carousing.

Adam doesn't want any of that to change. He just wishes he could handle it a little bit better. Like maybe not be in fear of his boner helicoptering him out of his chair every time Blake's hand brushes down his arm.

By the end of the day, Adam just wants to go home and soak in a bathtub and put in some earbuds and listen to something loud and distracting that will take his mind off of this all-consuming chaos, but before he can so much as make a run for the door, Blake's standing right next to him, friendly smile on his face while the crew cleans up around them.

"Hey," Blake says, slinging his arm over the edge of Adam's chair. "Wanna get drinks after this?"

"Sure," Adam says, knowing all the while that it's a terrible idea, and that he really shouldn't be doing anything with Blake until he gets this ridiculous situation sorted out, until he can look at Blake without thinking about his lips, his so fucking soft lips. “Do you wanna invite everybody else too?”

He points his thumb over at Miley and Alicia’s chairs and over where Carson is, because if nothing else, safety in numbers is a good idea, but Blake is shrugging and shaking his head and completely ignoring Adam’s attempt to make this a little bit easier on himself.

“They can come next time,” Blake says. “Feels like forever since we hung out, just the two of us.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I see your ugly mug all the time.”

“Hilarious,” Blake says, then leans in to pinch his cheek. Adam sees him approaching as if in slow motion, completely frozen, way too terrified that Blake will touch him and see Adam’s face and _get it_ — “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, swatting Blake’s hand away from his face.

“You seem a little… I don’t know, skittish.”

He shrugs. “Just looking forward to getting out of here, you know.”

Blake’s eyebrows curve inward for a moment of confusion, because he knows perfectly well that Adam loves the Blind Auditions, especially when this is the easy part where all they have to do is sit back and listen to talent and meet new people instead of the hard part where they have to cut contestants out of their team.

Adam has to stop doing this. He has to stop making it so obvious that there's something wrong and that Blake's the one he's purposefully keeping out of the loop, even though he has no idea how to stop. He's too shitty of an actor to be convincing about not wanting to sleep with one of his best friends.

"Well, then let's go," Blake says, smile back on his face. "Get you out of this hell on earth."

"You're an asshole," Adam says, climbing out of the chair. "And you're buying tonight."

Blake slings an arm around his shoulders, and if he feels the way Adam tenses up underneath him, he doesn't mention it. "Boy, you sure are a high-maintenance date, you know that?"

"Stop trying to charm me," Adam says. "It's weird as fuck."

"Why, is it working?"

“You’re an idiot,” Adam says. He pushes Blake’s arm off his shoulders.

\--

Going to the bar seems like a good idea at first. They can have fun, Adam can loosen up, and more importantly, he can shrug off all of this smothering drama he’s been having with himself for the last few days. Besides, Blake gets pretty obnoxious when he has one too many drinks, and seeing him act like an idiot should definitely help with step one of Adam’s plans to fix things, which happens to be: get the fuck over these absurd feelings he’s been having for Blake.

What he happened to forget is that Blake also gets pretty _touchy_ when he’s drunk.

They’re a few beers and tequila shots in when Adam gets an unfortunate reminder of this. Blake’s arm is a warm weight on his shoulder that doesn’t seem to want to move and he keeps leaning in to talk in Adam’s ear because the music is too loud, and this is _not_ what Adam had in mind when he wanted to implement step one.

“Get off of me, you oaf,” Adam says, not for the first time that night, when Blake comes back from the bathroom and immediately tucks Adam into his side.

“You’re so _tense_ lately,” Blake says, and he moves his arm away, but only to slide his hands over Adam’s shoulders and rub, thumbs digging in between his shoulder blades. “What’s got you so stressed, man?”

Adam shrugs, both as an answer and to get Blake’s hand off of him. He knows he’s tense. His back is nothing but a row of knots, and he’s not sure even a three-hour long Swedish massage could salvage his stiff muscles by now. Blake tries to massage his fingers into Adam’s back in time with the music playing overhead and Adam does his best to wiggle away, shoulders shifting out of his grip.

“I’m fine,” Adam says. “Really—you don’t have to—do that.”

Blake doesn't seem to hear him, hands firm and skillful and _heavenly_ on his back. Adam fumbles to try and reach his shot on the counter, needing more alcohol as quickly as possible. The bartender’s filled it back up, which seems to be the only dose of luck he’s gotten thus far this past week.

Blake circles back around him when Adam ducks his back out of his touches, every single knead and brush and stroke over his shirt like someone’s burning him up. Did Blake always used to touch him this much? Were they always like this, habitually seeking each other’s touch out, and Adam’s just now noticing it? Being _tortured_ by it?

"Do you wanna tell me what's really going on with you?" Blake asks, almost too gently to be heard over the music.

Adam feels wet panic slick up his chest, rising like a flash of lightning, because he knows Blake is about to read like him an open picture book if he isn't cautious. He swallows, reaching for his glass, and pretends not to hear him, not to register what he's talking about in the slightest.

"What?"

"I said," Blake says, significantly louder this time, "what the hell's wrong with you?"

His eyes are hard, angry concern all over his face, like he thinks Adam is keeping some great secret from him. Adam is, but it's none of his business, it isn't, and he needs to just _let it go_.

"I don't," he says, desperate to avoid this. He takes his drink and downs the rest of it; maybe Blake will assume he's horribly drunk and give up trying to pry information out of him. "What are you talking about, dude?"

"You," Blake shoots back. The music is loud, vibrating through the floor every time the bass rumbles, but Blake's voice seems more commanding, grumbling straight into Adam's chest. "It's like you're afraid of me or something."

" _What?_ "

"Every time I try and touch you," Blake says. "Hell, every time I get _close_ to you, you bolt like a deer."

God, why doesn't he get it? It's like Blake is spelling it out for himself and he still doesn't see it, still isn't connecting the dots enough to figure out the answer, and Adam could just shake him by the throat for being so fucking dense. 

"You shouldn't have fucking kissed me," Adam says, and even though his words are coming out all right, his throat feels hoarse, raw. "You _never_ should've—why the fuck did you think that would be okay?"

It's too dark in this goddamn bar for Adam to read Blake's face, and reality is swaying too much for him to focus, but he sees bewilderment, can comprehend that much.

"That's what this is about?" Blake asks. "You told me it wasn't!"

"You stupid moron," Adam shouts. "I lied! Of course it's about that! You _kissed_ me!"

_And screwed everything up,_ he wants to say. _And made me want you. Made me realize it all._ He could've gone another ten years without ever acknowledging that he's got it bad for Blake fucking Shelton, would've been perfectly happy not ever digging underneath that rock. Now he has and the worms are out everywhere and Adam can't stuff them back underground, can't return it all to how it used to be.

"Adam," Blake is starting to say, but the tone he's speaking in, the startlingly sober, belittlingly _concerned_ way he says Adam's name, it makes it clear that Adam doesn't need to hear any more. He doesn't need to hear the explanations, the awkward apology, the reminder that it didn't mean anything and why is Adam getting so worked up over this and he knows that Blake was just fooling around, right? Fuck that.

"You screwed it up, man, and it's not—it wasn't my fault,” Adam says. “That wasn’t—fucking kissing me—that’s not messing around anymore, and now I can’t—I can’t stop—”

He takes a deep, rattling breath in, sliding his hands over his face and trying to breathe. How did things get so bad so fast, how was it that all it took was one single kiss to completely derail him, and how was it that Blake didn’t understand that? He wants to be drunker, he wants to be anywhere other than here with Blake right now.

A hand reaches out to touch his wrist, Blake’s hand, and his fingers brush against Adam’s pulse, probably feeling its frantic beating, and Adam pulls his arm away. Whatever Blake has to say right now, it won’t help. Even saying he's sorry won’t help, and that’s not even Blake’s fault, that’s Adam’s for wading knee deep in this shit and not letting this go and not being able to stop thinking about Blake’s mouth on him, his tongue, his fingers, his teeth.

“Just—can you go fuck off, please?” Adam says, pulling his hands away from his face. “Please?”

He doesn’t look at Blake, keeping his eyes on the smoothness of his empty shot glass instead. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He knew it was a bad idea to come and now he’s been proven right, sitting alone at the bar feeling gutted, which is stupid, because Blake’s the one who kissed him, Blake’s the one at fault, and yet, he still feels responsible. 

\--

Everything is a blur when Adam wakes up. He only remembers bits and pieces, like a puzzle where half the parts are stuck in the carpet and you have to dig and scratch to get them out. He knows that his mouth tastes foul and his head is aching and there's a deep-seated dread in his stomach from doing something terrible last night.

It comes back to him pretty quickly, the feeling too strong not to have memories attached to it. He remembers yelling at Blake, feeling ridiculous, feeling frustrated, feeling nauseous, feeling snubbed. He remembers drinking and drinking and drinking and then Blake taking him home, stiff from the moment he grabbed Adam by the wrist and led him to the car but still there, _still there_ , and he remembers pretending to be asleep in the passenger seat to avoid talking, specifically, to avoid having to listen to Blake gently turn him down and feeling the last shred of his dignity wither away in Blake's car—fittingly, of all places. He remembers Blake putting him in his bed, taking off his shoes and socks, Adam smelling his aftershave and wishing he wasn't, feeling sick to his stomach and humiliated beyond belief and somehow still angry, angry at Blake for creating this avalanche of trouble and at himself for letting himself be plowed over by it.

He doesn't know what happened after that. He must've fallen asleep once his mind was too tired to keep regurgitating the same regrets and the alcohol pushed him toward slumber, and Blake must've left, which will sure make coming to set next week and seeing Blake sitting in makeup with bedhead and his boots up on the table awkward as fuck. What the hell is he supposed to say? Why couldn't he have just kept his goddamn mouth shut last night?

He stumbles downstairs after laying, hungover and defeated, in bed for another twenty minutes, during which his mind slowly wakes up and fills in all the missing details from last night he didn't actually want to know before peeling himself up and throwing fresh clothes on.

And there, in the living room, he sees Blake lying on his couch, curled up and still hanging off the edges with what must be a bitch of an inevitable backache if he slept like that all night, and Adam feels some of that residual anger sweep away. He can't be mad at Blake, even if he did catapult Adam into complete existential hell, and doesn't want to be anymore. He sighs, nudging Blake's ankle through his jeans.

"Blake," he says, shaking his boot. Why the hell did he sleep in his boots? He must've felt terribly uncomfortable in Adam's house to have kept his shoes on the entire time. "Blake, buddy. Get up."

Blake stirs and mumbles and squirms on his undersized makeshift bed, nearly tipping off the edge. His eyes flutter open, the exhaustion heavy under his lids, but a certain amount of life sparks into him when he sees Adam standing right there.

"Hey," Blake says, rubbing his eyes. His accent is even deeper like this, when he's freshly woken and still staggering his way into consciousness. "Morning." He digs his palms into his eyes to wipe the last of the sleepiness away, sitting up. "How's your head?"

"It's fine," Adam says. "Hurts like a bitch, but I'll live."

Blake nods. They look at each other for a long, suspended moment of quiet, and Adam can't help but think that if Blake slept here, on his practically decorative, extremely uncomfortable couch, he must've done so for Adam. To see if he would be okay in the morning, or to talk, or to make sure they were all right in the light of day, and that has to count for something. Everything's different now, but maybe it'll work out and they can still cobble their friendship together and salvage this clusterfuck of a situation.

"Listen, Adam," Blake says, sounding so small, so _careful_ that it almost hurts Adam to hear him mince his words like this. "I'm sorry about everything. I really am."

"You are?"

"Of course I am," Blake says. "I didn't mean—I know I screwed with your head. And I also know you wanna know why I did it, why I kissed you, but the truth is—well, this is my shit, and I'll deal with it, all right?"

"This is your..." Adam repeats it slowly, trying to make sense of it. He winds a hand into his hair, wishing he was less hungover for this. "I know this shouldn't be hard for you, so can you do me a favor and act like I'm stupid here, please?"

"What?"

"Just tell me what the hell you're talking about. Really explain it to me."

"Hell, I've been talking about it for ages, not my problem you didn't listen," Blake says, sounding just as exasperated as Adam. "I've been telling everybody for years now that I want to kiss you, and I do. I did."

Blake's voice sounds so strained, so miserable, even as it's clearly trying hard not to be, and in the sharpness of the morning light, Adam can see that his hands are shaking. He's being honest, Adam can tell, which is so—it can't be, it's so crazy to even fathom the idea that this is true, that Blake _wants to kiss him_ , that Blake hasn't been kidding around all this time, that maybe Adam was completely wrong about everything here.

"You—shut up," Adam says, a hysterical laugh right on the edge of his mouth. "You wanted to kiss me? For real?"

Blake isn't looking at him. "Yeah, I did."

“And you still do?”

“Yeah.”

And it really shouldn't be so hard to believe, not when Blake has spent the last few years pulling Adam close and kissing the sensitive spot under his ear and dragging him onto his lap, cameras on or off, but he always did it so candidly, so _easily_ that Adam had never thought anything of it. Looking back now, it feels like a no brainer, the same way it felt when he watched himself in that clip and realized, instantly, just how _obvious_ his own body language was.

Blake still hasn't caught onto the fact that Adam is happy, _thrilled_ , even, by this sudden change of events, hands white on his knees where he’s gripping them through the weathered denim. He looks drained, even after an entire night's sleep, completely misreading the situation's mood and missing the fact that Adam can't stop smiling.

"I'm sorry, and I get it if you're mad," Blake says, and he's opening his mouth and is halfway into another self-effacing promise when Adam climbs into his lap and seizes him fiercely by the chin.

"Oh, I am _totally_ mad," Adam breathes onto his mouth, because fuck, for how long could they have been doing this, _how fucking long_ , which definitely means they have some time to make up, time that Adam kickstarts by leaning down and kissing him.

It’s better than their first kiss, and even better than what Adam’s imagination procured afterwards, Blake’s hands shocked but warm on the small of his back as he gets with the program and kisses back, a moan falling out of his mouth and shooting straight down Adam’s midsection when he seems to realize what's happening and that this isn't the grisly end to their friendship. Adam’s still trying to process that everything he’s been thinking about, daydreaming about, _masturbating to_ , he gets to do, and he begins by drawing Blake’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging, wondering if Blake is marveling over the same thing right now.

"I thought it was just me," Adam mumbles onto Blake's slick mouth, addicted, tantalized by the curve of it, the feel of it pressed against his skin. "I had no idea you—why did you never say anything, you idiot?"

"You didn't either," Blake says.

"Yeah, but." A blush creeps its way up Adam's cheeks, a huff of laughter escaping him. "Well, I, ah. I might've just recently figured it all out."

"My god. Just recently?" Blake says. "I always said you were slow, you know."

They can banter later, Adam thinks, completely dizzy from Blake's hands sliding up and down his spine and Blake's accent in his mouth and holy fuck, Blake's growing erection under his lap. They have other priorities right now, like getting undressed as quickly as humanly possible and keeping their mouths on each other at all times, so Adam ducks in and nips at Blake’s jaw, parted lips moving hungrily down his neck, the burn of Blake's facial hair unbelievably arousing.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Adam says on his neck, hands sliding between them to push up Blake’s shirt and feel his chest, stroke the smattering of hair there. “You kissed me and I—I just fucking _lost it_.”

“Yeah?” Blake says. All that misery from before is out of his voice, probably thanks to Adam squirming on his lap and completely shifting the mood on this morning, the hollowness gone and making room for a teasing edge to his words. “What did you think about?”

“Oh, you’d really love to know, wouldn’t you?”

Blake’s hand slides to Adam’s jaw, pulling him up from his neck. There’s a soft, private little grin on his face that has Adam’s heartbeat stuttering over itself. “Humor me.”

And this is a weird sensation, one where Adam doesn’t feel like he can even say no to Blake when he’s looking at him with that smile, which is definitely dangerous information he makes a mental note to never share out loud. He has the feeling doing this is about to uncover millions of weaknesses Blake holds over him, and every time Blake pisses him off it wants something from him from here on out, he'll know that all he has to do is lick over Adam's jawline just right and all will be well and settled in his favor.

“Fine,” Adam says, leaning in first to steal another kiss; it’s like Blake’s mouth is keeping him grounded. “I thought about you and me like we are right now, except less clothes.”

“What’d we do?”

“Held hands and sang a pretty song,” Adam says. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re blushin’ like a schoolgirl.”

Adam swears he’s going to wipe that smirk off of Blake’s face, the fond way he’s gazing at Adam like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen. It’s a look Blake’s given him before—during interviews, while they hang out, when Adam’s singing—and he’s finally able to place it and figure out what it means, what he’s trying to say. Adam leans in until their noses are touching, hands firm on Blake’s chest.

“You were blowing me,” he says, quiet like he’s sharing a secret, “and then you had your fingers in me. And then you fucked the daylights out of me.”

“Dear god,” Blake says, just as softly, and immediately he’s yanking Adam closer and they’re kissing again, mouths wet and greedy against each other, Adam fully aware that he’s leaking in his underwear at this point. He rolls down onto Blake’s lap, the friction of their clothed erections against each other intoxicating but not nearly enough, not when they could be naked and this could all be skin on skin.

Blake seems to be thinking along the same line, because his hands furl around the base of Adam’s thin tee, not quite yet tugging it off. 

“Can I?”

“What?” Adam nods. “Stupidest question you’ve ever asked me.”

He pulls back, letting Blake pull his shirt over his head, amazed that he even asked. It could be because of that look on Blake’s face, slightly reverent, slightly awed, like he still hasn’t entirely wrapped his head around the fact that this didn’t all blow up on him and that Adam wants him too and is here, eager, on his lap. Adam's kind of experiencing the same amazed disbelief.

He takes Blake’s shirt off after that, wrangling it off his arms and tossing it to the side, pretty sure they won’t need it for the rest of the day, and he touches every bit of Blake’s exposed torso that he can while Blake shudders up into his hands, from his long sides to his firm chest to even the bits he’s stupidly self-conscious about, and he leans in again to seize Blake’s mouth in a kiss that’s hungrier than before, teeth biting and tongues sliding over each other. He's amazed at how much he wants to do, how he can't seem to figure out what he wants to do first: jerk Blake off nice and slow and commit every groan to memory, sink to his knees and get Blake in his mouth, open up his legs and plead for Blake to push his fingers in—the possibilities are endless.

He decides to start with that blowjob he can’t stop thinking about, and he wiggles his way out of Blake’s arms and slides off the couch to settle onto his knees, catching a glimpse of Blake’s eyes, how much they’re blanketed in dark want.

“Take these off,” Adam orders, wrangling the cowboy boots off of Blake’s feet. “I’m not blowing you while you’re in cowboy boots.”

“Ever?”

Adam looks up at him, at that cocky smirk on Blake’s mouth, reddened from kissing, and that disheveled hair, mussed by Adam’s hands, and feels his pants tighten to a point that’s nearly painful.

“We’ll talk about it,” he says, which pulls a breathless laugh out of Blake right up until Adam slides his hands up his thighs, thumbs tracing the inner seams of his jeans, and he leans in to mouth around the bulge in the denim, the laugh disappearing into a sharp hitch of an inhale. “Up,” Adam tells him, unbuttoning his jeans.

Blake obeys, lifting his hips and letting Adam wiggle his jeans down his legs, pulling them to his knees before his impatience gets the better of him and Adam lets them be to focus on his goal: getting his mouth around Blake’s dick. He slides it out of Blake’s underwear, realizing dazedly that this is the first time he’s ever held another guy’s dick in his hand and yeah, he likes it, likes it a _lot_. He takes it in for a second, the feel of it in his fingers, the width, the length.

"Don't worry, I have a permit for it," Blake drawls when he notices Adam staring, spreading his legs.

Adam rolls his eyes. "You are a complete moron, you know that?" He says so while wrapping his hand around Blake's dick and leaning in close enough to let his mouth brush over the head of it, which probably takes the edge off if not the meaning away from his words, but it definitely needed to be said.

The effect his mouth has on Blake is instantaneous; his thighs tense and his breaths come out in short, uneven bursts, his palm immediately grabbing hold of the nape of Adam’s neck. Adam has to take a moment to appreciate the way Blake reacts to him, so openly and honestly that it’s almost distracting, but he eventually focuses on the task at hand and drags his tongue over Blake’s length and swallows down around the tip, encouraged by Blake’s groans and the jagged bucks of his hips. He doesn’t taste anything like Adam expected, not quite as strong or salty, and Adam can’t help but wonder if this is something he might find himself being addicted to in the near future, because if nothing else, Blake’s pleased, broken groans are like musical notes in his ears.

He gets the hang of sucking Blake off quickly enough. He adapts and learns fast, always has, and cocksucking might just be one of his natural talents that he never knew about, and he alternates between taking Blake in as deep as he feels comfortable doing and dragging his tongue up and down his dick while his hands rub at Blake’s thighs, hipbones, and any other nearby skin, which is a combination of ministrations that seems to work beautifully. Blake is so thick and hot and heavy on his tongue and Adam can’t help but enjoy that he’s able to feel and taste and _know_ how much Blake wants him.

“Adam,” Blake says weakly, his hand sliding up Adam’s neck to tangle into his hair and pull. “Fuck, Adam, I want—” 

Adam is pretty sure he knows what he wants, but he still wants to hear him say it. He lets Blake rub his neck, press his fingertips into his scalp until Adam pulls off and licks his lips, fully aware of how fucking _debauched_ he must look with his wet mouth and hooded eyes and hoping it’ll make it that much harder for Blake to focus. He can’t believe this, that he spent years trying to figure out how to make Blake shut his mouth and now he has the answer, and the best possible win-win situation of an answer at that.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Come up here,” Blake begs, and then he’s reaching for Adam’s arms and hauling him up himself, Adam doing his best not to acknowledge the fact that it’s pretty damn hot that Blake can manhandle him so easily. “I wanna,” he starts, his hand squeezing Adam’s ass and making it pretty damn obvious what he wants, “I wanna make love to you really bad. Like wow, real bad.”

He sounds hopelessly honest and even a bit smitten if Adam’s being honest, eyes wide and locked onto Adam, nowhere else. It’s almost overwhelming, the way Blake’s holding him, touching him, and Adam has to start wondering when it all started for him—was it years ago? Was it months ago? Was it a gradual thing, or did it hit him all at once? He wants to know, he wants to just sit and listen to Blake tell him in that slow, gentle voice of his just how long he’s been embarrassingly in love with Adam and how and why and when.

“How long,” Adam asks him while he’s unbuttoning his jeans and hurrying to kick them and his boxers aside, crawling straight back into Blake’s lap when he’s done and straddling his thighs. A part of him wants to rush and give into his desire-fueled impulse to have Blake fuck him as soon as possible, but another part wants to stop and savor, take his time learning what makes Blake whimper and what feels good and what makes them both come apart, and he listens to that latter half and doesn’t hurry, stopping instead to let his hands roam over Blake’s chest and to let their hips gently rock together. “How long have you wanted to?”

“Gosh,” Blake breathes, like he’s trying to pinpoint the moment. “Probably since the beginning?”

“Seriously?”

He chuckles, the sound rolling through Adam’s shoulder when he leans in and presses his nose against Adam’s neck, lips pushing a kiss against his collarbone. “I don’t think I really stood a chance,” he tells him. “You were just too damn sexy.”

Adam doesn’t even know what to say. Blake kisses the side of his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and Adam is still speechless, feeling both extremely lucky and extremely stupid for never even noticing, never even thinking that _maybe_ all those long hugs and offhanded sexual comments were signs. Maybe he really is slow if he never picked up on the grain of truth in any of that, because honestly, Blake wasn’t exactly being subtle.

“I can’t handle you being this nice to me,” Adam says, and he knows his ears are bright red as he hides his smile in Blake’s shoulder. “It’s _weird_.”

“Well, can’t really help it when you’re sitting naked in my lap.”

Adam laughs at that, really laughs, and he can’t help but notice that he's never done that during sex before, never _had_ sex quite like this—hot and satisfying and delicious but also _comfortable_ , the kind of comfortable where you laugh and you smile and it feels _right_ , and already Adam is excited to do this again, and again, and again after that.

“Okay, fine,” Adam says. “Now can we quit talking and— _ah_.” He momentarily loses control of his ability to talk when Blake’s teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Can we get this show on the road?”

“I thought it already was,” Blake says, hands sliding back to Adam’s ass like he's getting himself thoroughly familiar with it, squeezing, rubbing, then pulling the cheeks apart so his thumb can brush against his entrance. “Or are we not on the road yet?”

No, they definitely are. Blake’s fingers keep trailing back and forth over his hole, clearly curious, and Adam is pretty sure Blake’s never done this with a guy before. He can’t say he minds—he’s a little pleased, honestly—since he’s nowhere near experienced with men himself, and this gets to be something they try together, do together. Adam remembers how the first few months after meeting Blake was nothing but sitting down with him and talking for hours about how simultaneously unalike and similar they were, how they both grew up with music but so differently, how they lived parallel lives but with such opposite experiences. This is where it changes, Adam thinks, this is where their lives stop spreading in different directions—which really, didn’t that actually happen that day Adam walked into that first Voice meeting and saw that big country loser sitting on the couch?

He’s jerked back to reality by Blake’s dry thumb circling his hole, obviously shy to breach it. A moment later, Blake stills his hands entirely, lips pressing an endless stream of kisses on Adam’s neck like he can’t ignore the temptation. 

"You got—you got stuff?" Blake asks, voice strangled like he's trying to rein in his self-control. "Christ, Adam, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Adam assures him. "Just—wait a second."

He goes to get up, made almost impossible by Blake seizing his wrist and tugging him back down for a kiss like he's unable to help himself and can't keep from touching Adam, feeling him, and Adam indulges him without too much complaint, curling a hand into Blake's hair and kissing back for a solid moment. He has to admit, it is a little addictive.

“You want to do this all day or do you want to fuck me?” Adam asks on his mouth.

“Both, ideally,” Blake says, his cheeky smile a soft curve against Adam’s lips.

He wrenches himself away when Blake's hand curls around his hipbone, effectively reminding him of the task at hand. He hurries upstairs and finds condoms in his bedside table quickly enough but has to rummage a little further for the lube, finding it in the back of his medicine cabinet. It's not an everyday thing for him, but now and again, he likes the press of his fingers inside of himself, likes the fullness, although he fully expects that after this, after _Blake_ , his own fingers won't really compare anymore.

Blake is waiting for him just as Adam left him on the couch except that he's now entirely naked, the jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles pushed aside and showing Blake off in all his glory. Adam is dying to commit this sight to memory—Blake, in the nude, on his sofa, hard-on curled against his thigh, waiting for nothing but to get his hands back on Adam.

"Hey," Blake says when he sees him, pulling him straight back down into his lap. "You found everything? 'Cause we can always improvise with some olive oil if need be, y'know."

"Good god, you're not oiling my ass, Blake," Adam says, pulling a face as he pushes the condom and tube of lube into his palm. "I'm prepared."

"Good to hear, Boy Scout," Blake says, and within seconds, his newly slicked fingers are sliding down Adam's back and pushing against his hole, eyes completely riveted on Adam as his hips twitch and he gasps at the touch. Nobody's ever done this to him before and it's making him feel fifteen again, getting to second base behind school bleachers for the first time, all sweaty palms and nervous heart rates. 

"You ever done this before?" Blake asks, as if x-raying into his mind.

"By myself, yeah," Adam admits, breath caught in his throat and rising higher every time Blake's fingertip rubs against him but never quite penetrates, the slow tease a torturous plot to clearly drive Adam mad.

"But never anybody else?"

"What do you think?" Adam asks, eyes boring into Blake's as he wordlessly challenges him to finger him already and stop messing around, but Blake's patience seems iron-bound, his thumb tracing circles around his furled entrance.

"I'm thinking that if I'm the first," Blake says, "I should do this right."

"Oh, fuck that," Adam says, arms winding around Blake's neck and hips grinding down to slide their cocks together, reveling in Blake's strained groan. "I don't need the glass doll treatment."

He thinks about adding that he just did this to himself a few days ago while thinking about Blake, about how much that kiss was tormenting him, but before he can add it to his list of persuasive tactics, Blake's easing his index finger inside of him and holding onto the small of his back to keep him steady, pulling all the words straight out of Adam's mouth before he can speak them. It's such a different feeling than his own fingers—Blake's thicker, longer, and able to reach and curve places that Adam never could by himself, and it doesn't take very long for that slight sting to fade and for the sensations to be good, almost dizzying, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Come on,” Adam whines, forehead dropping onto Blake’s shoulder. “I can take more, _come on_.”

“Hmm, I don’t think you can,” Blake says, and Adam can _hear_ the cheeky smile in his words.

“You bastard,” Adam says, trying to push his hips down, trying to get a little more inside, but Blake’s hand moving to his waist stills him, bafflingly strong. "We'll be here all fucking day at this rate."

"Would that be so bad?" Blake asks.

No, it actually wouldn't, Adam has to admit that much. As a matter of fact, it sounds like a perfect day in the making, nothing but slowly exploring each other's bodies and taking their time with each other, seeing how many pieces of furniture in the house they can fuck on. Maybe they just figured out their plans for the weekend.

Blake slides a second finger in after that, opening Adam up carefully, deliberately, until Adam feels sweat gathering on his temples, mouth dry. He's getting restless, aching to have Blake's cock inside him, this ache so much more demanding than the imaginary one he's been suffering through, and he sucks dark, possessive spots onto Blake's neck where they're mostly hidden by his beard to keep himself occupied.

"Your facial hair," Adam moans, fingers tracing one small freckling of red past Blake's jawline. "God, I love it."

He's also pretty partial toward the way Blake's fingers are pumping in and out of him, the rhythm he's picked up almost impossible not to try and match, Adam's hips desperate to meet every single thrust of his fingers. He wants him in deeper, harder, but the hold Blake has on him is firm, letting him and only him dictate the pace, which is somehow both incredibly aggravating and unbelievably hot.

“Did you think about this?” Blake asks, his breath hot on Adam’s ear. “Me doing this—my fingers in you.”

Adam nods against Blake’s neck, jaw catching on the bristles of his beard. “Yeah,” he confesses. _The reality’s better_ , he wants to say, but he feels short on air, his lungs breathing too hard, and then Blake’s finger pushes against _that spot_ and Adam lets out a stifled shout, seeing spots. God, his imagination could never even compare.

“Right there,” Adam says, and Blake does it again, crooks his fingers and rubs against his prostate, doesn’t stop until Adam’s keening, gasping, legs shaking. “ _Fuck_. Blake, you have to—Jesus fucking Christ, you have to fuck me.”

Blake doesn’t seem to have any problem with that, his teasing coming to an end, because all he does is swear and press harsh, frantic kisses against Adam’s jaw before sliding his fingers out of his hole and nodding, clearly on board and wanting that too. It’s almost hard to believe that they’re about to have sex, that this is really happening, and that Blake really is looming over him right now panting in his ear and touching his bare hips, wanting him as much as Adam wants him too.

"Adam," Blake says. "Get on your back."

Adam complies. The couch is getting sticky, the leather slick against Adam’s sweat-sheened back, but there’s no way that Adam’s even going to entertain the idea of them relocating, not now. He spreads his legs to make room for Blake, grabbing his arms and pulling him in close enough to kiss him again, the urge to do so like a thirst he can't resist. He breaks away to moan when Blake’s fingers push back into him, three this time, and his free hand wraps around his cock.

“Think you’re ready?” Blake asks.

“Yes!” Adam snaps, close to sobbing out of the need to have Blake inside him, his dick probably never ever harder in his life than right now. “I was ready lightyears ago, and you fucking know it, you just like messing with me, you asshole.”

When he opens his eyes—he doesn’t even remember closing them—Blake’s grinning in front of him. “Or maybe I just like watching you like this,” he says.

“Fucker,” Adam says, rolling his eyes. “More like you love hearing me beg.”

Blake’s hands stop moving, fingers slipping out of his stretched hole and palm moving away from his dick, repositioning his grip underneath Adam’s knees and pushing them up until his thighs are angled toward his chest. Blake looks positively _entranced_ by the sight as he tries to focus on sliding a condom on, from Adam’s spread legs to his waiting hole, and Adam clenches his entrance a few times since he knows Blake is watching.

“Jesus Christ, Adam,” Blake says, then lines himself up and pushes in, officially stealing the last of the oxygen out of Adam’s lungs.

It hurts, even with the meticulous prep and the generous coating of lube on Blake’s cock, but there’s an undercurrent of pleasure beneath the sting, a satisfaction at being so incredibly full, and Adam can’t even imagine stopping now, not when he’s pretty sure this is about to be the best orgasm of his life. Blake’s going _so slowly_ , sliding in inch by inch when Adam just wants to feel him bottom out, but Blake isn’t hurrying, no matter how much Adam shifts his hips and whines.

“I’m not made of sugar,” he says, voice rougher than he would’ve anticipated. “ _Come on_ , Blake.”

Blake’s only response is a low, quiet grunt, and it’s then that Adam considers that this might not even be about Blake teasing him but more about Blake keeping himself from coming too soon, his eyes shut and his lips bitten red like being inside Adam is almost too much, the realization hitting Adam as white heat flaring up his chest. He can hardly believe that he's the one responsible for this, that he's taken someone as unshakable as Blake and reduced him to this shuddering, gorgeous mess. He'll be sure to tease Blake about that later, but right now, _fuck_ , is it making Adam hot to see how hot Blake is because of him.

It takes a little bit for Blake to be all the way inside, and when he finally is, his head is hanging and his breathing is shallow. It’s one of the hottest fucking things Adam has ever seen, and it only gets better from there on out, Blake pulling out only to thrust back in, hips snapping with a force that leaves Adam spinning, scrambling. He feels like he’s close to exploding, so unbelievably full and hard and aching to come, and when his head tips back in a strangled groan, Blake leans in closer to kiss his neck, tongue lapping at the expanse of it.

"Adam," Blake rasps out, voice hoarse, "tell me if it's good. Tell me—"

His hand squeezes around Adam's cock and Adam moans, so embarrassingly close to the edge already he's not sure he can even hold out that much longer, and surely Blake must know when Adam's clenching around him and whimpering and hardly able to find the breath to speak, he just wants to hear Adam say it, the cheeky idiot.

"Yeah, _yes_ , yes, it's good," Adam says, close to babbling. He leans in until their mouths are touching and they're sharing hot, uneven breaths. "Holy fuck, Blake, how are you so good at this?"

Blake's exhale pushes out in a puff of laughter, his hips stuttering into Adam's. "You're not the only one who's been thinkin' about this," he says. He shifts just an inch and the next time he thrusts in, his cock is brushing Adam’s prostate, and it’s so much more intense than when his fingers were reaching it. Adam cries out, back arching.

“There—again,” Adam demands, hands reaching for Blake’s backside to dig his blunt fingernails into the skin. “Show me what you’ve got. Come on.”

And Blake does. He takes it on like his own personal challenge, like making Adam come is the most important mission he has to succeed in, more important than stealing contestants from him, than beating him on the show, and he doesn’t disappoint in the least. It’s like with every thrust, his cock drives deeper into Adam, bruising his prostate, pulling yet another set of sounds out of his throat that Adam didn’t even know he could create. Both their voices are going to be _wrecked_ by the time this is over, and if this turns into a full-blown sexathon, Adam probably won’t be able to sing for a month. If he wasn’t currently getting fucked like it was Blake’s last task on earth, he might be chuckling over the idea of not being able to coach his team because he’s been groaning, cursing, and shouting obscenities in bed too much.

“Christ,” Blake croaks. Adam can’t help but watch him—the flush to his chest, the want in his eyes, the way his hands are reverent on Adam’s body. “You feel so good.” He sounds wrecked, right at the edge, and his rhythm loses some of its precision. “I really didn’t—I never thought that—oh, fuck, Adam.”

"Me neither," Adam says, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. "Shit, Blake." He pulls his knees up higher to give Blake all the room he needs, the slaps of their skin almost loud enough to drown out Adam's pitched _ah, ah, ah_ s. "I wanna—I wanna feel you come."

He drags his fingernails down Blake's back, digging them in at his shoulder bones. Blake comes with a low moan and trembles that shake through his entire frame, and Adam could completely curse the condom in that moment if only to feel Blake spilling inside him, sure it would push him over the edge, but he doesn’t have the chance to stop and complain about it because the second Blake pulls out, leaving Adam uncomfortably empty, he’s leaning down and shoving his fingers back inside, rubbing relentlessly against Adam’s prostate, coaxing his orgasm out of him at an almost ruthless pace.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Adam groans, reaching for something to hold onto, anything, and ending up with Blake’s shoulder in one hand and his hair in the other.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Blake says, voice pitched low, and he works his mouth over the fluttering muscles in Adam’s abdomen and the jut of his hipbone while his fingers work away inside him. “Come on. I want to see you.”

His accent is ten times more sinful whispered into Adam’s skin, the slide of his short beard on his thigh the tipping point for Adam’s orgasm, and like a tide, it washes over him, completely enveloping him, and he barely registers his body moving through it, chest rising and hips seizing, unable to focus on anything but the firm press of Blake’s fingers inside of him long after he’s gone soft and sensitive, sweat heavy on his skin.

“Gorgeous,” Blake is mumbling onto his skin, withdrawing his fingers only when Adam starts keening. “Adam, we’re doing that again.”

He says it resolutely, like there’s even any chance of Adam disagreeing—fuck no—and crawls up the couch until he’s draped over Adam’s chest, legs between each other’s and Blake’s mouth pressing continuous kisses onto his hairline, his temple, the shell of his ear. Adam can feel his pulse like this, the racing of his heart pulsing through his chest and directly onto Adam’s, the way it gently slows down from its hectic pace.

_I did that,_ Adam thinks, proud and so unbelievably sated.

"Don't fall asleep on top of me," he tells Blake, shifting warily under the warm weight of Blake's heavy muscles. "Blake."

Blake moves, but only just enough to slip off of Adam and pull him into his side, and it feels so familiar, so much like the way Blake always drapes an arm over his shoulder and holds on to him when they're standing next to each other, except that this time around, they're both naked and still coming down from their orgasms. It's amazing how nice it feels, how easy. Like they probably should've been doing this all along.

He thinks about what Blake said, how he knew since the beginning, how he never even stood a chance, how he's been gone for Adam since day one, and he really should feel overwhelmed, but he can't bring himself to, not when it's starting to feel like it might’ve been the same for him and he just never realized it. All he knows is that this feels good, and they’re going to do it again, and even though it might’ve taken them a long ass time to get here, they’re on the same page now.

“Hey,” Blake says, hand slipping over the back of Adam’s neck again. It’s a spot he seems to like, tips of his fingers playing with the short hem of Adam’s hair. “You still mad that I kissed you?”

“Nah,” Adam says, leaning into the hand on his neck, the thumb stroking the spot behind his ear. “You’re pretty good at it.”

Blake grins. “Well. That’s all I needed to hear.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite things about writing a certain RPS pairing for the first time is the research that goes into it. For instance, my time recently has been spent googling things like "does Adam Levine drink coffee" and watching videos to figure out which cuss words Adam likes best. TIME WELL SPENT.


End file.
